


Sherlock and the Aliens of London

by Sherlock1110, sherlockian4evr



Series: When Paths Collide [2]
Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alien Spaceships, Aliens, Crossover, Curious Sherlock, Frustrated John, Gen, M/M, Protective Big Brother Mycroft, Skewed Timelines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 13:22:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5587375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockian4evr/pseuds/sherlockian4evr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aliens have supposedly crashed in London but Sherlock disagrees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock and the Aliens of London

Sherlock was walking along Baker Street back towards 221 when it happened. He was muttering to himself about how heavy milk was while he was swinging it absently in the bag he was holding, it was John's fault… demanding he went and got it for a change. 

A large object swooped down overhead, causing shadows and the whole street to darken. Sherlock's first thought was that it was a plane about to crash but completely disproved that theory with just a glance up at it. A spaceship? No… couldn't be, it disappeared from sight and he heard the song of Big Ben, at 7 minutes past? 

He jumped on the spot, this was brilliant! He charged the few remaining metres to 221 and slipped the key in, the milk was dropped at the bottom of the stairs and he practically skipped to the top. 

“John! John, did you see it?”

“See what?” The doctor called from the kitchen.

“How did you miss it? You are so unobservant!” He routed around the sofa for the remote and flicked the telly on. “You must have heard it at least!”

“Was the plane that low? Where's the milk?”

“Sod the milk!” He pointed at the screen and then jumped up and down like a toddler on Christmas morning. “It's a spaceship! I think it hit Big Ben.”

It was already on the news, images of Big Ben with chunks collapsing and then it flickered to the Thames where the ship had apparently landed. 

Sherlock actually squealed with joy. “No more being bored John!” He exclaimed grabbing the doctor’s jacket and then the doctor’s hand as he flew passed him to the door. He was still squealing when the front door swung open and he charged back out into the street only to be stopped by the surrounding black cars and hundreds of Mycroft's minions. 

“Mycroft!”

In mere moments, Sherlock and John were cuffed together and being bustled into one of the waiting cars. Sherlock slid across the seat to the other side and pulled the doctor to sit close by him. He ignored Mycroft completely. They had only travelled a short distance when the driver had to stop for a set of traffic lights. The detective waited until they started moving again, then opened the door and leapt out, taking John with him.

John was lucky it was a back street and not into heavy traffic, but all the same he smacked the detective on the back of the head. ”What the bloody buggering fuck, Sherlock?”

“I cannot stand my brother. I hate him!”

Sherlock turned to take off but John dug his heels in. “Oh no, no, no. We are not doing this again.”

“At least let’s get out of the way, before Mycroft commandeers every helicopter in the country.”  

John grimaced as he was pulled down an alleyway. “At least tell me where we're going, yeah?”

“The clock tower! To see the spaceship.”

It was tempting to scoff, but after the incident with the living plastic, John had learned his lesson. No wonder Mycroft had shown up. He dug his heels in, resisting Sherlock's pull. “If it's just the same to you, I'd just as soon skip any alien involvement.”

“Why?”

“Because… because…” Why indeed? “Because I'm sure we can find an interesting case that'll keep your brother off our backs.” What was the real reason? He couldn't say because I promised your brother I would keep you out of things like this. He grabbed Sherlock by the front of his shirt with his free hand and pushed him into the wall, just as a car drove passed at speed. He quickly pushed his lips to the younger man's. ”You got your lock picking kit on you?”

Sherlock blinked dazedly, looking at John. His tongue darted out and he licked his lips. “Yes,” he said in a breathless tone. “Left coat pocket.”

The doctor reached into said pocket and brought out the kit. “Get us out of these cuffs before your brother finds us.” Then I'm dragging your arse home. John held the kit open and Sherlock picked up the tool he would need before wiggling it into the hole. It didn't take him long. 

“Mycroft must have known these cuffs were shit.”

“I don't think he planned on you launching yourself out of a moving vehicle, to be honest.”

Sherlock shrugged as he pulled his wrist free. Then he set about releasing John's.  

“Right, home.”

“But, we should go and see what's going on.”

“We won't get anywhere near. I bet the traffic's a nightmare.” 

Sherlock pulled Lestrade's warrant card from his pocket and Mycroft's ID from the other.  “John, do you really think I would let a little thing like traffic stop me?” With a grin, Sherlock started running.

The doctor gave a low growl and chased after him secure in the knowledge that Mycroft would probably kill him for letting Sherlock run into this particular danger. All he could do was try to keep the infuriating git alive until then.

Sherlock took his typical shortcuts, finally emerging from Downing Street onto Whitehall. There was a large contingent of soldiers and police officers holding back the panicking crowds. Sherlock stood tall and put on a commanding demeanour, then walked out amongst them like he owned all of London. Which card to use? Mycroft's carried more risk but Lestrade may not be senior enough. Growling, he pulled Mycroft's from his pocket once more and waved it under the nearest officer's nose. 

“Mr. Holmes? What brings you here?”

“Nothing that concerns you, I'm sure. This is Detective Inspector Lestrade,” he indicated John on his right. “Now can we come through?”

The officer gave him a strange look, but let them through. John tried his best to look suitably unconcerned, but he knew he would be getting an earful from Greg at the very least. As they drew nearer the crash site, John found his eyes locked on the spacecraft. He reached out and grabbed Sherlock by the arm and spun him around. “Sherlock,” he hissed, “Look at that thing! This isn't a hoax. That thing's real. Whatever is in it, if it's still alive... Nope. We're not doing this.”

“How is this any different to the things we usually look into, John?” He hissed lowly.

“It's clearly not human.”

“Obviously. But hitting Big Ben, come on what are the chances? Someone wants someone's attention, and with London completely at a standstill, d'you reckon they got it?”

John looked away briefly, a look of consternation on his face. “Yeah, I reckon they did, but what can we do about it?”

“We're going to find out why!”

“I don't think so!” Both John and Sherlock froze where they stood. ”Turn around,” Mycroft ordered. 

As they did they realised every officer had turned to face them and the ones with guns had pulled them from their holsters.

Sherlock turned around, a sour look on his face, and took a single menacing step towards his brother. “No one asked you to interfere, Mycroft.”

“Sherlock,” John warned as he placed a hand on the detective's arm, “Guns, Sherlock, and they're pointing at us.”

“Oh, they would never fire at us, John,” the detective snarled. “Mycroft wants to keep us safe.”

The government official's head tilted on one side as he regarded his brother. 

The younger Holmes ignored him, instead choosing to glance at John then over his shoulder. 

“Don't even think of taking off again, Sherlock.”

He sighed. “Fine. Where's the car?”

“I'm sorry?” Mycroft was more than surprised at the sudden turn of events. 

He glanced at John again. “We'll come quietly.”

“Baby brother, there will be no more leaping from a moving car.”

Sherlock froze for a moment, then he ran. Bullets sprayed all around him, but missed their mark widely.

John considered making his own bid for escape just to keep an eye on the detective, but wasn't certain Mycroft's orders to his minions not to hit their mark applied to him. He watched Sherlock instead and just raised his hands. “Mycroft…” he offered. “I did try.”

The older man took a step towards him. “Does he still hate me that much?” His voice was low, just so the doctor could hear. 

“He doesn't talk about you. If I bring you up… he… well, snarl isn't really the right word but it's a close approximation.”

From his position John could still see the ship, smoke gushing from it like it was about to catch alight in the middle of the Thames. Sherlock would love that. 

“I know.” Mycroft mentally set aside his internal sadness and got back to the business before them. “Your hand doctor.” He was stood with his own hand extended.

John raised his eyebrows in question. “It's not shaking, if that's what you're getting at.”

“Please.” Mycroft snapped his fingers impatiently at the doctor.

Sighing, John held his hand out to Mycroft who strapped a brown device around his wrist. The government official flipped the device open. “I don't understand how this works, and, alas, it's only partially functional, but if you find yourself or my brother in danger, grab him and press this button. It will take you both to safety.”

John looked from the minion that had stepped forward with Mycroft. “As if he's going to try anything,” Mycroft growled. 

“I don't understand.”

“Words that are becoming less and less frequent from you.”

“You're not taking me back to that place?”

Mycroft sighed. “No, he still trusts you, John, as must I. Now, please, catch him up and do try to keep him safe.”

With a shake of the head, John was off. He was as confused as it was possible to be, apparently he was wearing a portable “transporter” on his wrist. Then again, he was running towards a crashed alien spacecraft and his boyfriend, so why not? He caught Sherlock up where he was trying to unlock the padlock which kept the ladders to the Thames out of the public’s way. “Sherlock?”

“My brother didn't arrest you, then?”

“Obviously.”

A grin quirked on the detective's lips. 

“You love me, don't you?” John asked. 

Sherlock straightened and turned around. “Of course. Don't be an idiot, John.”

“If you love me you will not unlock that padlock. You'll come with me. Back to Baker Street. Back home.”

Sherlock's reply was heated. “If you love me, you won't ask me to do that, you won't ask me to turn away from who I am.”

“You're a detective Sherlock, you hunt murderers, not aliens.”

“People change. I change.”

“Please, Sherlock.”

The detective got out another part of his kit and tried the lock again.

John glanced at the thing around his wrist and then over where Mycroft was still stood. Mycroft was right, Sherlock's safety came before his feelings. He took a deep breath. “If you're going into that ship you're going in alone.” John turned and took off away from the Thames, away from Sherlock; towards Baker Street. 

Sherlock was torn between following John and investigating, so he settled on haranguing Mycroft. “You do realise, brother dear, that this,” he gestured to the wreckage behind him, “is nothing but a ruse.” He stepped in close to his brother, crowding his space. “What might the true purpose of all this be?”

“I think, brother dear,” Mycroft responded slowly. “That is none of your business.”

“But you let me-”

“Between letting you attempt it or putting you back below the Diogenes?”

“Open the gate, Mycroft.” 

“I will but you need to make a decision. John. Or your curiosity,” he seemed to spit the word out with distaste. 

Sherlock growled and looked away, his face contorted in a vision of frustration. He couldn't choose anything over John, he had made that decision long ago. It didn't mean he had to be happy about it. The lock pick set he still held in his hand went flying as he threw it in a fit of rage. “You can't keep these things from me forever, Mycroft. Eventually something will happen and you'll blink. When you do, I'll find out what's really happening.” With that, he stalked off after John, his fury transmuting into a low, simmering, seething ball of anger that settled into the pit of his stomach.

As Sherlock finally caught John up (he'd had to guess the route John might take, but if he asked he'd deduced) it was just as a helicopter flew over. John had paused behind a few bins and was watching where the helicopter had frozen, its light shining down below. They were too far away to hear what was being said but what was happening was obvious. 3 people came out of an old police box, a box Sherlock was sure he recognised from somewhere. How did they all get in there, anyway?

As one man ran off Sherlock was about to take off after him, but John caught his sleeve. “No,” he hissed. 

The man and women left raised their arms after obviously being instructed to do so. Some of the armed officers that had been dotted around rushed over and escorted them into a waiting car. 

“What the bloody hell was all that about?” John asked. 

Sherlock gave a brief tilt of the head and the corner of his mouth quirked up. “Ah, your curiosity is piqued at last. Shall we find out?” He took off towards the police box.

“That's not what I meant!” John called out after the disappearing detective. He muttered, “Daft bastard,” under his breath and took off after him. He really needed to put a leash on his mad genius.

Sherlock veered to the side and pressed up against a wall as several more soldiers and suited officials flooded the area. It was right there, almost within reach, but they wouldn't be any getting closer to the mysterious box.

“We can't go forward,” John hissed. 

More booted footsteps from where they had come from. What was going on? What was so important?

“Well we can't go back.”

John thought desperately. 

“There's only one way out of this, John.”

Sherlock grabbed John's wrist, flipped the device he was wearing open and pressed the button Mycroft had indicated to the doctor minutes before. The world around them changed and they found themselves outside Baker Street.

John quickly started hyperventilating. They had transported across London. It wasn't an abstract idea anymore, it was a reality. “How...” He couldn't catch his breath! “Did you... know?”

“Breathe, John.” Sherlock sounded concerned, but there was an underlying smugness in him.

As soon as John's breathing had returned to normal, Sherlock set off again. The doctor wanted to scream his frustration, but settled for asking, “Oi! Now what?”

“If it was an alien spaceship,” Sherlock called out over his shoulder, “where's the pilot?”

“Do we have to look into this? Sherlock, please, for once, can we just go out for dinner or something?”

Sherlock looked his boyfriend over, he looked shattered, eyes heavy, face pinched, he sighed. “Angelo's?” He offered, with a slight smile. He once again felt guilty, just because he could run on empty didn't mean everyone could. Yes, John was better than most given his army days but maybe he was right, maybe they should just relax for the evening. Even so, he couldn't help the anger at Mycroft managing to make him avoid the ship, getting what he wanted but John came first, he had to. 

The doctor looked up in surprise. “Really?”

Sherlock wrapped his arm across John's shoulders and squeezed. “Really.” Feeling the tension flow out of the doctor's sturdy frame was enough to tell Sherlock he had made the correct choice, he didn't always, but this time he had.

John leaned into the detective as they started walking. He was grateful for the reprieve. “But really, how did you know about this... thingy?” He raised his arm to indicate the device on his wrist.

“Deduced.”

“No really, how?”

“Mycroft found it when we were kids.” He took John's hand and led him towards their favourite restaurant. “He never told me what it did but sometimes when I was caught in a landslide or something he would just… appear. I was a kid, assumed that that could happen. Then I grew up, and he became an insufferable sod. But suddenly there you are coming after me rather than getting thrown back in that dungeon as a bargaining chip? Wasn't really that big of a leap.”

“Git,” John said, but it was fond. “You two are impossible.” He stopped Sherlock just outside of Angelo's for a kiss. “You're my impossible man.”

The door swung open before either of them had the chance to open it themselves. 

“Sherlock! Good to see you… come in come in,” Angelo hurried one of the waiters out of the way and pulled Sherlock through.


End file.
